


set me straight when I went wrong

by sabrina_il (marina)



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Banter, Gen, Kneeling, Kneeling verse, Light BDSM, Light Dom/sub, M/M, domming meta, kneeling AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-23
Updated: 2014-06-23
Packaged: 2018-02-05 23:20:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1835875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marina/pseuds/sabrina_il
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“We had set a bunch of conditions with him if he were to live on his own,” Chiarelli said of Seguin. “That’s what I mean about being on top of it. He had to submit really his week in advance. And he was actually really good about it. One thing with Tyler was that he tried.”</i>
</p><p>Jamie stumbles across some quotes from the Bruins about Tyler and gets angry. Really, really fucking angry.</p><p>Kneeling 'verse AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	set me straight when I went wrong

**Author's Note:**

> Written in the middle of the night as a reward for myself for finishing the final paper of my MA! \o/ Sorry guys, totally not the fic I intended to write, let that be your warning. 
> 
> ALL VIEWS REGARDING THE BRUINS ARE JAMIE BENN'S AND NOT MY OWN.
> 
> Beta by the amazing Roga.
> 
> Can be considered an informal sequel to [take me and shelter me](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1362919).
> 
> The article mentioned in the fic is [this one](http://www.bostonglobe.com/sports/2014/04/23/bruins-dougie-hamilton-facing-challenges-being-young-nhl-player/Np42x2FslFrE7DM9ubXhjO/story.html), which you should REALLY READ IN ITS ENTIRETY. GO ON, I'LL WAIT.

Jamie doesn’t remember who sent him the article. Maybe he looked it up as soon as he heard about it, whatever. The point is he reads it in the morning after his run and is totally fine afterwards. He’s fine when he shoots hoops with Jordie and one of Jordie’s weird friends from grade 7, he’s fine when he goes to his mom’s for dinner, he’s fine when he falls asleep on the giant soft mattress in his brand new house. 

He wakes up still totally fine. His jaw hurts from grinding his teeth in the night.

*

“Just say it,” Jordie says, making himself a sandwich in Jamie’s new kitchen. 

“It’s an ugly hat and wearing it makes you look like a possum,” Jamie says. Where did Jordie even get it?

“No, the other thing. About the kid,” Jordie slathers mayo on a piece of bread. “Say it to me or say it to him but you should say it to someone.”

Oh. “How about I call Chiarelli,” Jamie says “And say it to him?”

Jordie shrugs as he bites into his sandwich. “Sure, whatever. We could get his number.”

Jamie wants to throw something at him. “I’m not kidding.”

“Me neither,” Jordie says. “He’s probably in the phonebook or something.”

Jamie scowls. Fuck Jordie, Jamie won’t give him the satisfaction of surrendering. He storms off instead.

*

Jamie’s phone rings at 7am and he’s too bleary to check the screen before picking up. “Hello?”

“Hey,” Tyler says. 

Fuck. Jamie’s so happy to hear his voice - so, so fucking happy to have a reminder that Tyler is OK and alive and doing great having his summer in Toronto or wherever. “Hey.”

“Oh my god, you’re not even angry I woke you up. This _is_ serious,” Tyler says, and Jamie can hear the smile in his voice. 

“What?” He tries to rub the sleep out of his eyes. “What’s wrong, why are you calling?”

“There’s nothing _wrong_ , jeez. Just wanted to ask about your summer. Do any fishing? Hang out with your cousins? Read any infuriating articles that mentioned me?”

Oh, shit. “Furious? Is that what Jordie said?”

“He actually said _seething_. I think he might have looked that word up just for the occasion.”

“Probably,” Jamie says. He sits up against the headboard. “Fuck you, it’s 7am.”

“Nice to have you back with us,” Tyler says. “Anyway, I just called to ask for your street address, for the taxi.”

“What? Where are you?” 

“Your shitty hometown,” Tyler says. 

“What the fuck, you’re in Victoria?” Jamie jumps off the bed and starts digging through the pile of clothes in his closet. “When the fuck did that happen? Did you talk to Jordie, is he picking you up?”

“I’m not here to see Jordie,” Tyler says. “I came because,” his voice gets quieter, “I want to kneel. For you. Today.”

Jamie freezes, holding his second favorite pair of shorts. “What?”

“I _need_ to,” Tyler says, still quiet. “Please. I came here because I need to.”

Jamie’s head is spinning. He drops the shorts back in the drawer and doesn’t know what to do with his hands. “You… yeah, of course. I mean, whatever you need.”

“Great,” Tyler’s voice is back to normal. “So I’ll be there in like an hour?”

The line disconnects before Jamie realizes that Tyler probably couldn’t tell he was nodding. 

*

Jamie gets his house ready for Tyler. Soft cushions transferred from the sofa to the floor, TV remote and iPad within reach when Jamie’s sitting on the couch, curtains in the living room obscuring the windows just in case, glass of water in case Tyler gets thirsty halfway through the proceedings. Jamie doesn’t know how long he’ll want to be down for - he’s never heard of anyone asking to kneel during the summer.

He doesn’t think about what could have brought this on. Probably Tyler just felt the need. That happens sometimes. Jamie remembers when it used to happen to him. You just feel lost all of a sudden, you need centering, and kneeling is the easiest way to get there. 

He doesn’t think about Peter fucking Chiarelli. Tyler is fine now, he’s better, he’s got a team that actually gives a fuck and treats him like an adult instead of a problem. He still goes out, he drinks, he hangs out with people, he’s _Tyler_. But he doesn’t let himself get shiftfaced in public anymore, doesn’t end up on anyone’s fucking instagram, doesn’t feel like he’s somehow failed as a person while succeeding as a hockey player. 

When Tyler shows up he’s tanner than Jamie remembers, hair shorter, carry-on bag slung over his shoulder. Jamie looks at him and thinks _mine_. Jamie’s teammate, Jamie’s not-actually-a-rookie, Jamie’s friend, Jamie’s _Tyler_. But there’s something else, too. Anger, like a bad fall on the ice, making him stutter and stumble as Tyler pushes past him and throws his bag on Jamie’s carpet. 

Tyler at 19, living alone and unsupervised, Tyler having to submit his itinerary a week in advance and fucking _doing it_ like a champ instead of having a person on the team actually be in charge of his well-being. Tyler getting passed around like a toy from player to player for discipline and support and sex. 

“You wanna do it here?” Tyler says, sinking to his knees with his usual, practiced grace over the pillows Jamie set up. 

“Yeah,” Jamie says. It’s the first thing he’s said since he opened the door. Fuck. Tyler needs him, he has to get his shit together.

“You want a drink? Food?” he says, finally managing to get over his stupor. 

“Nah, it’s cool,” Tyler says, stretching his neck and spreading his knees wider apart.  
Jamie walks around him and sits on the couch, settles in and spreads his legs so they’re bracketing Tyler. This is usually the position that works best for them. 

Tyler looks up at him when Jamie’s settled and slides his cheek against Jamie’s thigh, starting with the fabric of Jamie’s shorts down to where Jamie’s skin is exposed. Jamie should laugh or put a hand on his head and make him settle, maybe, but all he can see is Tyler’s softness, his vulnerability. 

Tyler getting told off again and again without being given any real way of improving. Tyler getting locked in his room to keep him from going out during the playoffs. Jamie’s hands turn to fists, pressing hard against the soft fabric of the couch. 

Suddenly Tyler’s hands are there, wrapped gently around Jamie’s wrists. Tyler’s eyes are still soft, trusting. The Tyler no one except Jamie ever gets to see. Tyler looks at him and Jamie can’t hold on to the anger, he has to breathe and let it flow out of him because Tyler doesn’t deserve this. Jamie’s stupid fucking useless anger, too little and too late and not helping anyone at all. 

“They traded me to Dallas,” Tyler says, and it’s so quiet, Jamie barely registers how hopeful he sounds.

“I’m sorry,” Jamie says, barely louder than a whisper. His fingers uncurl and Tyler runs his hands down Jamie’s palms. “I’m so sor--”

“They traded me to you,” Tyler says, interrupting. “It was the worst fucking feeling, and they were dicks, but they are the reason I’m here.”

The words hit the wall of Jamie’s anger like a mallet. Tyler puts his head down, withdrawing his hands, letting Jamie see the top of his head as he breathes against Jamie’s thigh. 

“I’m…” Jamie begins to say, but doesn’t know how to continue. Tyler doesn’t look up at him, just keeps resting his head where he always does, like he’s said all he wanted to on the subject. Like Tyler came here to give him this. God, Jamie’s been so stupid. 

Something swells up in his chest, drowning out the outrage and hatred for the fucking Bruins. He has _Tyler_. He has him now, and the Bruins can’t have him back. And Tyler is here, reminding Jamie that he’s better. That their team is better. That Peter Chiarelli did one thing right in his life, at least. 

Jamie buries his hand in Tyler’s hair, letting his fingers card through it, listening to Tyler sigh.


End file.
